Hands
by GravityDefier7827
Summary: She had such tiny hands, but they could do so much. Mike receives some much needed comforting after a night gone wrong. OC, no real plot, can read as a stand alone.


_Soooooo I feel in love with Graceland, and Aaron Tveit. Not sure how this happened/where this is going, but I wrote it because yeah. This is a total OC, sorry if it doesn't make too much sense in the plot of the first season. If y'all want more, let me know._

_WARNING: some cheesytastic goodness and Mike hurting. Because we all love it. OH. And there's also and OC, sorry._

* * *

"Hey, Mike," Avery answered the call, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder as she washed her dishes.

She expected a playful response back, maybe a little bickering before he asked her to go out for a drink or to hang out. It was the way Mike acted with her, light and to the point.

What she didn't except was no response at all.

Well, not really no response, because she was greeted back with heavy and unrhythmic breathing from his end of the line, which was close to nothing at all.

Becoming weary, Avery set the sponge she was clutching onto the counter and replaced it with her phone. "Mike?"

He took a deep breath on the other end of the line, then swallowed his words before anything was said. "Um, I – uh."

Heart beating a bit harder in her chest, Avery sat down at the edge of her couch. Sure, Mike was a bit starstruck at times, but he was always able to spit words out; stupid words, but still coherent. "Mike? What's wrong?"

She could hear him swallow again, and if she were next to him she'd see a hand run through his hair, disheveling the perfectly placed locks. He inhaled his next breath quickly and in short gasps, and she knew that in the next moment he would come undone. His sharp, expertly contained sobs cut through the phone as painful noises escaped from his lips.

Her blood turned ice cold as Mike broke down, the fact that she couldn't do anything to lessen his anguish in the moment hurting her most of all. When her sister's boyfriend had passed away in a car accident, only an iron grip could get her to stop hyperventilating and losing her mind, the only thing that could get her to just _stop_. What could she do with Mike? Words couldn't help him right now.

But she tried. "Hey, hey, shh. Calm down, Mike, it's alright. Shh, shh. You gotta tell me what's wrong so I can help, alright?"

She was answered with more sniffling and heavy breathing. _Shit._

"Mike, I'm coming over, okay? Are you home? _Mike, _you gotta answer me, baby, so I can help."

Through his sobs, a faint _yes_ could be understood, and as soon as she heard that she was on her feet and moving toward the door. "I'll be there in a few minutes. It's okay, Mike. It'll be okay, I promise." And before either of them could speak, she hung up. Taking just enough time to grab her keys and shoes, she locked the door behind her and bolted toward her car.

* * *

She broke three laws on her way to his house. Not caring in the slightest that she was breaking another one in the house, Avery took the stairs two at a time, not taking the time to see if anyone else was home, though it looked like no one was. They were probably out drinking, like every night, oblivious to the fact that one of their own was having a meltdown in his room.

As she hastily approached his door, she couldn't hear anything abnormal, or anything at all. Softly knocking, she slowly pushed it open, careful not to startle the agent, who almost always had a gun an arm's length away.

Mike was on the floor, his back perched up against the foot of his bed. He watched her enter the room with half lidded and red rimmed eyes, his mouth set in an unwavering straight line. Besides the evidence of tears, he looked...normal. Could he really have put himself together that quickly? He sounded so utterly broken on the phone.

"Mike?" she asked softly, still not moving any closer to him. His eyes closed at the sound of her voice, and as his fists clenched by his side, she could see his resolve breaking.

More confident, she took the three steps to reach him and dropped to her knees in front of him. Reaching out her hand, she lightly grasped his jaw, making him face her. "Mike," she tried again, "look at me."

It took those words and a stroke of his cheek for Mike's composure to crumple. It started with the quivering of his lip, his forehead creased, and then his eyes squeezed inevitably even more shut. Cupping the back of his neck, she pulled him into her as he sucked in a breath of air he so desperately needed.

The extra weight that Mike brought on sent her backside ungracefully onto the floor with a loud thump, though neither seemed to notice. His face was pressed against her neck, hands wound painfully tight around her waist as he latched himself onto her. One of her hands gripped a fistful of his hair as the other ran the length of his back, hopelessly trying to soothe him with no avail.

He wasn't a loud crier. His sobs didn't release any anguishing sounds, only the sniffling and the short intakes of air pierced the silence. He sporadically tensed, his already iron grip tightening in random bursts as tears began to dampen her skin. She cooed soft, meaningless words in his ear as they sat tangled on the floor for who knows how long.

She tried everything. She massaged his neck and back, kissed anywhere her mouth could reach, spoke to him, rocked him, _hell_, she even hummed a tune in his ear, but he would not stop. If anything, the soothing seemed to break him down even more. His mouth opened as he tensed around her again, gripping her tight enough to leave bruises as a rare and painfully loud sob ripped through his lungs. It scared her to think that nothing was calming him, because her options were coming to an end very quickly.

But eventually, the tears began to cease and the gasping lessened. Soon his breath evened and the steady, hot air being blown against her neck felt like heaven. The grip around her middle loosened moment by moment, and before she knew it Mike had pushed himself away from her, returning to the position she found him in. His whole face was flushed, eyes and lips swollen and his cheeks glistened from tear stains.

In that one, vulnerable moment, he was the most extraordinary thing she'd ever seen.

Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she pathetically spoke, "Hey."

Managing the slightest of smiles, he answered, "Great greeting committee, huh?" His voice was weak and hoarse, but nothing sounded better in that moment.

"Mike..."

He rubbed his eyes. "I know, I know." He paused, looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes that stunned her even more with a glaze over them. Quickly, he uttered, "There was an attack in a safe zone. I watched five men and ten women get murdered right in front of me. It all happened so quickly...I couldn't do anything about it. A – and then, Bello tortured one of the shooters right in front of me and I couldn't help him." He shuttered at the thought. "God, I can't, it's too much."

"Hey," she stopped his rambling with the overused word of the night, placing a hand on his thigh and rubbing gently. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

He was staring down at her hand, watching the soft movements. After waiting a beat, Mike placed his hand on top of hers, weaving and interlocking their fingers. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," she countered immediately. "You know I'd be over in a heart beat if you needed me."

He looked back up at her, finally. "Thank you." And she knew he meant it.

She squeezed his hand, offering a small smile. "How about some sleep? It might take the edge off a bit." At least she thought that.

Almost instantly he shook his head, almost violently. "No. No, not now. I just...I need something to distract me, to keep me from thinking."

She breathed a laugh. "Mike, that's almost impossible."

"I know," he said solemnly, "but I can try."

"How about some TV? There's gotta be something on," she offered.

Hands still interlocked, they migrated downstairs and into the living room. Lounging on the couch, Mike's head easily found it's way into Avery's lap, a blanket over them both as _Late Night With Jimmy Fallon _played in the background. Her hands ran absentmindedly through his soft locks, enticing soft moans of comfort from the half-lidded man.

Within ten minutes, he was sleeping soundly, cradled by the fragile hands that put his broken pieces back together.

* * *

_I KNOW. Wow that was cheesy, but oh well. Tell me whatcha guys think, I love hearing from you all._


End file.
